


Just As You Are

by Tea_and_roses



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Armageddon, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Best Friends, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley holding space for sad Aziraphale, Crowley's Point of View, Donuts, Eating, Emotional Eating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fix any damage Show Gabriel has done perhaps, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Holding space, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Stress Eating, The Great Plan (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), canon divergence (just a little), soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25260028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_roses/pseuds/Tea_and_roses
Summary: In a slight change of TV series events, Crowley comes back not to an empty book shop, but to a sad angel eating a box of doughnuts. Not that a principality needs a demon’s help, really, but Crowley proceeds to be an excellent best friend, receive a spectacular first kiss, and help save the world from Armageddon… all in a last-day-of-the-world’s work.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 90





	Just As You Are

“Angel?” Crowley dashed into the bookstore. Any other time, he would have strolled or sauntered, but the world was ending in just a few hours. Bit short on time to dawdle, really, even for a demon. The door, bolted though it was, had unlocked easily enough under Crowley’s hand.

Aziraphale was sitting at a little antique table near the back of the shop, forlornly eating doughnuts out of a pink pastry box. And, oh, hell, _weeping_.

“Why, hello,” said Crowley, as normally as possible, reducing his pace to his usual slithering saunter. He slid into a carved chair opposite the angel. “You know we can just bring doughnuts to our next planet, yes? Make them, I mean. With a recipe. And if the place hasn’t got the right kind of agriculture, we’ll just miracle it. You can still have them.”

“This is not about _doughnuts_ , Crowley!” protested Aziraphale, who continued to eat doughnuts as if it were very much about them. Whatever “it” was.

“Then what _is_ it about, Angel?”

“I saw Gabriel today.”

“Oh? That bastard? Bet he’s glad what day it is.” Crowley rolled his eyes behind his ever-present sunglasses and shook his head.

“I found him out jogging.”

“Wish he’d run off a damned cliff. Hell, the sight of that man… er, _being_ … would make anyone cry. Nothing like a toxic boss to go ruin a perfectly good Doomsday.”

“A ‘good Doomsday’?” repeated Aziraphale.

“Oh, psh, it was just an expression. Sounded cool.” Crowley waved his hand airily. “Go on, then.”

“Gabriel told me I should come, you know, fight the war with him. He also told me, in no uncertain terms, to ‘lose the gut.’”

Crowley, though frowning at this account, nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, that’s the right idea then, stick it to the archangel. Good. Good. Shall I miracle you some takeaway next?”

“Crowley, _stop_.” Aziraphale managed to look even more miserable. “I’m not trying to ‘stick it’ to anyone. I’m just… sad.”

“Oh. … Right, then.”

A pause.

“About, what, the world?”

“About all of it.” Aziraphale sniffled.

“But that prick Gabriel in particular?”

The angel nodded.

“I could kill that ssssleazy scumbag for you, Angel,” said Crowley, rising to his feet. “Part of the job description, might even get a commendation for it.”

“No, no,” said Aziraphale, pressing a hand to Crowley’s over the table. “Just… stay, please.”

“But the end of the world,” said Crowley, glancing back at the windowed shopfront. “Armageddon and all that. It’s happening. Only a few hours left.”

The angel nodded but made no movement.

So, Crowley didn’t say anything else. He just sat down, and held Aziraphale’s pretty hand over the table, and waited until the angel was finished eating doughnuts.

“Right, then,” said Aziraphale softly, some moments later when there were no more doughnuts to be had. He stood up. “Suppose we should be on with it, then.”

“A—Aziraphale,” said Crowley, hesitantly, and then silently cursed himself for opening his mouth.

“Yes, dear?”

Crowley blushed. There was no way Aziraphale was _not_ seeing that blush and figuring everything out. That was, if he hadn’t already, centuries, maybe millennia ago.

This was it, then.

Crowley took a deep breath.

“ ’ Be a shame to head off into Armageddon and never have kissed you.”

“Never have what?” asked the angel in a very small voice, looking up at him with a thoughtful expression.

“Kissed you,” repeated Crowley, flapping a hand between them for emphasis. “You know, mouths, tongues, the whole bit. God!” He wanted to kick himself. Really couldn’t have botched that worse for trying. Good thing the world was ending today, because Crowley was never going to recover—

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, a small smile spreading over his face as he stepped around the table. “Well, that would be lovely, Crowley.”

“You—what? You think so?” Crowley was so flabbergasted that he forgot he was wearing sunglasses. Forgot what planet he was on. Even forgot that the planet was scheduled for destruction in a few hours.

Aziraphale, fortunately, _did_ remember that Crowley was wearing sunglasses and very, very gently removed them. He was standing in Crowley’s space in a way that should have been impossible. This _could not_ be allowed. Oh, right, because it wasn’t.

“Shall we?” murmured Aziraphale, combing a hand through Crowley’s hair to cradle his head ever so gently.

Yes, please, hell, whatever it was that Aziraphale thought they should do, they should do it. Crowley, whose brain couldn’t quite keep up at the moment, what with all the fireworks going off at various nerve endings, just nodded enthusiastically.

And Aziraphale pressed his lips to Crowley’s.

Crowley at once remembered what to do, and what planet he was on, and what day it was, and he kissed Aziraphale the way you were meant to kiss the love of your life while standing in said love’s rare books shop, and also like it was the end of the world. Because he was. And it was.

Or at least, it was scheduled to be. Part of the Great Plan and all.

But the Ineffable Plan… well, that was quite another story.

When the great battle of Armageddon had passed, successfully unbattled, and Aziraphale and Crowley had dodged rather painful deaths at the hands of their superiors, and everything had been returned to normal as much as it possibly could be, they had a magnificently spontaneous lunch at The Ritz.

They should have had, anyway. Aziraphale was drinking champagne quite gamely, but halfheartedly pushing food around his plate. Crowley sighed behind his sunglasses.

“If you aren’t eating that because of that wanker Gabriel, I am going to judge you _very_ hard,” he hissed.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together in that precious way that made Crowley want to burn down the world for him, have their own side, make very noisy love to him, _something_.

“But what if he was right?” asked Aziraphale. “Maybe I _should_ lose some…” He glanced down and then back up at Crowley. “…Gut.”

Crowley offered his most put-upon sigh and hauled himself up from slouching to lean forward. He let his glasses fall down his nose a bit so he could stare at Aziraphale more compellingly.

“Do _you_ think he’s right?” Crowley asked.

“Well… no…”

“Well then fuck him,” said Crowley emphatically, and settled back into his chair, replacing the sunglasses.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale glanced around for any corrupted children or pearl clutching on the part of other patrons. There didn’t seem to be any.

“Right,” conceded Crowley. “Suppose you’re right. Suppose that _is_ rather offensive.”

“It’s The _Ritz_ , Crowley! I do not wish to get kicked out of here.”

“Oh, I meant the part about Gabriel,” drawled the demon. “You should fuck me, instead, obviously.”

“ _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale’s eyes were nearly the size of teacups.

“It is ssssuch a bad idea?” asked Crowley, from the slouchiest position possible in a very elegant and unforgiving chair. Hopefully he didn’t sound as desperately invested in the question’s answer as he felt.

“No, it’s a wonderful one, but you can’t say those things in a restaurant!”

“Oh? Oh.” Crowley straightened up a bit, his face breaking into a devilish smile. “Seems like I just did.”

“Well…” Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that, beyond pursing his lips and making a token expression of righteous disapproval. His cheeks were still a bit pink.

“But whatever you want, Angel, really.” Crowley kissed the back of Aziraphale’s soft hand, and a forked tongue flicked over his skin. “You want me to stop, I will.”

“I—don’t,” said Aziraphale primly. “I want you just as you are.”

The grin that Crowley flashed up at him was wicked and wonderful.


End file.
